A Salute and a Saccharine Smile
by Nicoteen
Summary: They followed her, their loyalty a solid stone in their chests. Despite her flaws and despite her shortcomings, they all relied on her, for better or worse. An anthology of the Grey Warden and her companions.
1. The Crow

**Come Hell or High Water**

I

Zevran glanced nervously at the Mabari hound sitting guard near the treeline, his intelligent eyes tracking the elf with grim determination . He walked slowly past the war dog, affectionately named Puck by their fearless leader, and acknowledged his warning growl with a curt nod. He was not to disturb the elf mage. Creeping silently through the trees, his experienced eyes sought out the slim form of Neria.

She sat in the middle of a small clearing, hands fisted in her robes. To any normal observer, it would appear to be a simple meditation or pensive reflection. Her white knuckles and faint glimmers of sweat on her neck belied a more sinister cause. The assassin intentionally cracked a branch beneath his foot, alerting her to his prescence. More than one of their group had been the victim of a surprised Mind Blast for surprising the stern little mage. Her anger with them quickly dissapated to make room for concern, her enormous green eyes glittering as she healed their pain.

Neria barely twitched at the noise, eyes staring straight into the shadowed forest. Zevran circled around to her front and sat at her behest, cautious.

A moment passed before her eyes landed on him.

"Zevran."

"Milady, I must admit-"

"Be silent."

The assassin closed his mouth with a snap, charm fading in place of attentiveness. He allowed his gaze to linger on the cuts adorning her hands. Blood welled up lazily and spilled onto the grass. Gritting his teeth, he fought the urge to lean forward and shake her. The sight of those red stains on her luminescent skin set his teeth on edge, in a manner decidedly unprofessional. Her eyes bore into him with an intensity that had him frozen. Her silver hair shifted with the soft breeze, the random small braids lifting from her fragile skull.

"Do you trust me, Zevran?" she asked softly, her voice gliding over his skin. He shuddered.

"Always and forever, my Warden." Zevran answered without hesitation, meeting her gaze.

She paused, and he took the moment to take in the tiredness in her face. There were circles beaneath her eyes, gone mostly unnoticed by the attention that was drawn to her tattoos. They stood out sharply against her cheek bones, the inky black stark against her skin. Neria had not slept since they exited the Circle, three days ago.

"Then you know that I would not ask this of you, were it not...important, to me." Neria said, finally breaking her stare to look down at her hands. She seemed lost in thought before the other elf reached forward and grasped her delicate fingers in his hands.

"You will never be one to idly watch someone suffer. Who can begrudge you that?" he asked her, voice low as he gently traced the cuts.

When she did not answer, he placed a soft kiss on her cheek, before dissappearing into the woods. Neria did not raise her head at his exit, merely watched as her blood began to hover in front of her.

Later, when they returned to Redcliffe Castle, the group learned that the bloodmage Jowan, had committed suicide during their departure. Grieving for his love, Lily, he had taken a poison known to stop the heart. None thought to inspect the body, or investigate the dozens of small cuts found on his hands and wrists. A by-product of blood magic, they imagined.

The group descended upon their leader with concern, and Neria only faintly acknowledged them, prefering intstead to sit alone with Puck. In a surprising display of forethought, Alistair kept his distance and returned to henpecking Morrigan. The rest of them took his lead hesitantly, restoring normalcy at the camp. After the rescue of Connor from the Demon, the incident with the mage was nearly forgotten. From the bedraggled look on Neria's face, no one dared ask what took place in the Fade, choosing simply to congratulate her on a job well done.

"Evil is never vanquished, simply shoved aside without forethought. The Fade will always be there, a danger to him." she had answered quietly. The others ignored her vague comment and began the celebrations.

Zevran, for his part, merely stood guard as the mage expertly practiced her bloodmagic, ignoring the twist in gut at the sight.

Yes, he trusted his Warden.


	2. The Vigil

**Wake of the Storm**

II

Sten stood stock still, the elf mage light in his arms. They were miles away from the camp, having gone out on a routine scouting trip. It had been quiet for the past few days, and feeling confident, Neria requested that it be the two of them. The hound had whined pitifully and pawed at her robes, only to be firmly pushed away and patted on the head. Alistair had reacted similiarly, reluctant to let go of his only other fellow Warden. Sten felt distaste bubble at the thought of the boy-warrior. His obnoxious nature was most distasteful. A groan from the bleeding bundle in his arms brought his attention back to the present.

The small horde lay in pieces around them, the crackle of Neria's Tempest sounding behind him. Various sigils lay on the ground where she had lain her trap for the darkspawn and Sten let out a brief sigh. With her magic still in the air, they were safe...for now.

Gently, he set down the elfling, worry inkling at the back of his skull. An unfamiliar fire had erupted upon her body as she battled, unprepared for the sheer number that had descended upon them. While the creatures fell around her, her skin took on an even whiter shade, alarming her companion. Blood floowed freely from cuts he did not see her receive, high on her arms and around her wrists. Her tattoos were glaring and obscene on her cheeks, dark against the waxy skin.

Sten reached into his bag for a Healing Poultice, dread filling him as his hands came up empty. Now was the time for worry. Reaching forward, he tilted her head up and poured cool water from a skein into her mouth, massaging her neck to ensure she swallowed. A soft sigh escaped Neria and her eyes fluttered open briefly. Her green orbs met Sten's blank ones, and she smiled weakly. Blood trickled out the side of her mouth, staining her lips.

A hand reached up and patted his cheek, uncharacteristic of the serious little mage. Sten felt slightly bewildered before sobering at the sight of the blood. He had to lean forward to hear her words.

"Look so worried...my Qunari...strange..." she said, trailing off as her eyes began to slip shut.

The large warrior shook her gently, careful not to jostle her broken ribs. She jerked awake for a moment, turning her gaze on him.

"Be here soon. Just..." The effort was too much for her failing body, and Neria fell into unconciousness, much to Sten's dismay.

Swallowing the unfamiliar lump in his throat, Sten reached forward and brushed the blood from her mouth.

"Fear not, _kadan_. We will see you to the Landsmeet yet," the Qunari said to her sleeping form, plucking her up gently.

An hour of trekking later, a sharp bark raised Sten's head from his view of the ground. Out of breath and haggard looking were Alistair, Morrigan and Wynne, Puck circling them insistently. They sobered immediately at the sight of the bloody and battered mage, Wynne rushing forward as Sten set her body on the ground. The older mage set to work as Alistair started to interrogate him. Five minutes later, and the Warden had not made much progress with Sten's short and abrupt answers. Alistair grit his teeth and threw up his hands, stalking off to hover above Neria. Morrigan regarded the Qunari with quiet attentiveness.

"Witch."

"I shall assume that you mean me, despite the rude greeting." Morrigan replied drily.

"The red mage fire- it consumed her, made her bleed. What is it?" he asked shortly, golden gaze boring into her own.

The shapeshifter went to answer, before freezing as his words processed. Her pale gaze turned to the elf on the ground and her ruby lips spread into a wicked smile. Looking to the worried Alistair, then back again to Neria, she felt the stirrings of curiousity. Something almost forgotten in her time with the Warden.

"That, my large fellow, is an interesting piece of magic indeed. Very interesting."

Sten observed the witch with growing dislike, her expression and the gleam in her eye not lost on him. He sensed, from the way she looked at the boy-warrior, that it was a subject for a later time. Pushing the thought aside, he sat upon the grass and began to tend to his own wounds, keeping an eye on the elfling as he did so.

He did not trust them, not even the healer. Not with his _kadan_.


End file.
